The Man in the Iron Mask, Alexandre Dumas [the best motivational books TXT] 📗

same as if it was burnt; and as the queen burns all her letters every time she comes—’

“And so you see this lady who came every month was the queen,” said the prisoner.

“‘Doubtless, doubtless,’ continued the old gentleman; ‘but this letter contained instructions—how can I follow them?’

“‘Write immediately to her; give her a plain account of the accident, and the queen will no doubt write you another letter in place of this.’

“‘Oh! the queen would never believe the story,’ said the good gentleman, shaking his head; ‘she will imagine that I want to keep this letter instead of giving it up like the rest, so as to have a hold over her. She is so distrustful, and M. de Mazarin so—Yon devil of an Italian is capable of having us poisoned at the first breath of suspicion.’”

Aramis almost imperceptibly smiled.

“‘You know, Dame Perronnette, they are both so suspicious in all that concerns Philippe.’

“Philippe was the name they gave me,” said the prisoner.

“‘Well, ‘tis no use hesitating,’ said Dame Perronnette, ‘somebody must go down the well.’

“‘Of course; so that the person who goes down may read the paper as he is coming up.’

“‘But let us choose some villager who cannot read, and then you will be at ease.’

“‘Granted; but will not any one who descends guess that a paper must be important for which we risk a man’s life? However, you have given me an idea, Dame Perronnette; somebody shall go down the well, but that somebody shall be myself.’

“But at this notion Dame Perronnette lamented and cried in such a manner, and so implored the old nobleman, with tears in her eyes, that he promised her to obtain a ladder long enough to reach down, while she went in search of some stout-hearted youth, whom she was to persuade that a jewel had fallen into the well, and that this jewel was wrapped in a paper. ‘And as paper,’ remarked my preceptor, ‘naturally unfolds in water, the young man would not be surprised at finding nothing, after all, but the letter wide open.’

“‘But perhaps the writing will be already effaced by that time,’ said Dame Perronnette.

“‘No consequence, provided we secure the letter. On returning it to the queen, she will see at once that we have not betrayed her; and consequently, as we shall not rouse the distrust of Mazarin, we shall have nothing to fear from him.’

“Having come to this resolution, they parted. I pushed back the shutter, and, seeing that my tutor was about to re-enter, I threw myself on my couch, in a confusion of brain caused by all I had just heard. My governor opened the door a few moments after, and thinking I was asleep gently closed it again. As soon as ever it was shut, I rose, and, listening, heard the sound of retiring footsteps. Then I returned to the shutters, and saw my tutor and Dame Perronnette go out together. I was alone in the house. They had hardly closed the gate before I sprang from the window and ran to the well. Then, just as my governor had leaned over, so leaned I. Something white and luminous glistened in the green and quivering silence of the water. The brilliant disk fascinated and allured me; my eyes became fixed, and I could hardly breathe. The well seemed to draw me downwards with its slimy mouth and icy breath; and I thought I read, at the bottom of the water, characters of fire traced upon the letter the queen had touched. Then, scarcely knowing what I was about, and urged on by one of those instinctive impulses which drive men to destruction, I lowered the cord from the windlass of the well to within about three feet of the water, leaving the bucket dangling, at the same time taking infinite pains not to disturb that coveted letter, which was beginning to change its white tint for the hue of chrysoprase,—proof enough that it was sinking,—and then, with the rope weltering in my hands, slid down into the abyss. When I saw myself hanging over the dark pool, when I saw the sky lessening above my head, a cold shudder came over me, a chill fear got the better of me, I was seized with giddiness, and the hair rose on my head; but my strong will still reigned supreme over all the terror and disquietude. I gained the water, and at once plunged into it, holding on by one hand, while I immersed the other and seized the dear letter, which, alas! came in two in my grasp. I concealed the two fragments in my body-coat, and, helping myself with my feet against the sides of the pit, and clinging on with my hands, agile and vigorous as I was, and, above all, pressed for time, I regained the brink, drenching it as I touched it with the water that streamed off me. I was no sooner out of the well with my prize, than I rushed into the sunlight, and took refuge in a kind of shrubbery at the bottom of the garden. As I entered my hiding-place, the bell which resounded when the great gate was opened, rang. It was my preceptor come back again. I had but just time. I calculated that it would take ten minutes before he would gain my place of concealment, even if, guessing where I was, he came straight to it; and twenty if he were obliged to look for me. But this was time enough to allow me to read the cherished letter, whose fragments I hastened to unite again. The writing was already fading, but I managed to decipher it all.

“And will you tell me what you read therein, monseigneur?” asked Aramis, deeply interested.

“Quite enough, monsieur, to see that my tutor was a man of noble rank, and that Perronnette, without being a lady of quality, was far better than a servant; and also to perceived that I must myself be high-born, since the queen, Anne of Austria, and Mazarin, the prime minister, commended me so earnestly to their care.” Here the young man paused, quite overcome.

“And what happened?” asked Aramis.

“It happened, monsieur,” answered he, “that the workmen they had summoned found nothing in the well, after the closest search; that my governor perceived that the brink was all watery; that I was not so dried by the sun as to prevent Dame Perronnette spying that my garments were moist; and, lastly, that I was seized with a violent fever, owing to the chill and the excitement of my discovery, an attack of delirium supervening, during which I related the whole adventure; so that, guided by my avowal, my governor found the pieces of the queen’s letter inside the bolster where I had concealed them.”

“Ah!” said Aramis, “now I understand.”

“Beyond this, all is conjecture. Doubtless the unfortunate lady and gentleman, not daring to keep the occurrence secret, wrote of all this to the queen and sent back the torn letter.”

“After which,” said Aramis, “you were arrested and removed to the Bastile.”

“As you see.”

“Your two attendants disappeared?”

“Alas!”

“Let us not take up our time with the dead, but see what can be done with the living. You told me you were resigned.”

“I repeat it.”

“Without any desire for freedom?”

“As I told you.”

“Without ambition, sorrow, or thought?”

The young man made no answer.

“Well,” asked Aramis, “why are you silent?”

“I think I have spoken enough,” answered the prisoner, “and that now it is your turn. I am weary.”

Aramis gathered himself up, and a shade of deep solemnity spread itself over his countenance. It was evident that he had reached the crisis in the part he had come to the prison to play. “One question,” said Aramis.

“What is it? speak.”

“In the house you inhabited there were neither looking-glasses nor mirrors?”

“What are those two words, and what is their meaning?” asked the young man; “I have no sort of knowledge of them.”

“They designate two pieces of furniture which reflect objects; so that, for instance, you may see in them your own lineaments, as you see mine now, with the naked eye.”

“No; there was neither a glass nor a mirror in the house,” answered the young man.

Aramis looked round him. “Nor is there anything of the kind here, either,” he said; “they have again taken the same precaution.”

“To what end?”

“You will know directly. Now, you have told me that you were instructed in mathematics, astronomy, fencing, and riding; but you have not said a word about history.”

“My tutor sometimes related to me the principal deeds of the king, St. Louis, King Francis I., and King Henry IV.”

“Is that all?”

“Very nearly.”

“This also was done by design, then; just as they deprived you of mirrors, which reflect the present, so they left you in ignorance of history, which reflects the past. Since your imprisonment, books have been forbidden you; so that you are unacquainted with a number of facts, by means of which you would be able to reconstruct the shattered mansion of your recollections and your hopes.”

“It is true,” said the young man.

“Listen, then; I will in a few words tell you what has passed in France during the last twenty-three or twenty-four years; that is, from the probable date of your birth; in a word, from the time that interests you.”

“Say on.” And the young man resumed his serious and attentive attitude.

“Do you know who was the son of Henry IV.?”

“At least I know who his successor was.”

“How?”

“By means of a coin dated 1610, which bears the effigy of Henry IV.; and another of 1612, bearing that of Louis XIII. So I presumed that, there being only two years between the two dates, Louis was Henry’s successor.”

“Then,” said Aramis, “you know that the last reigning monarch was Louis XIII.?”

“I do,” answered the youth, slightly reddening.

“Well, he was a prince full of noble ideas and great projects, always, alas! deferred by the trouble of the times and the dread struggle that his minister Richelieu had to maintain against the great nobles of France. The king himself was of a feeble character, and died young and unhappy.”

“I know it.”

“He had been long anxious about having a heir; a care which weighs heavily on princes, who desire to leave behind them more than one pledge that their best thoughts and works will be continued.”

“Did the king, then, die childless?” asked the prisoner, smiling.

“No, but he was long without one, and for a long while thought he should be the last of his race. This idea had reduced him to the depths of despair, when suddenly, his wife, Anne of Austria—”

The prisoner trembled.

“Did you know,” said Aramis, “that Louis XIII.‘s wife was called Anne of Austria?”

“Continue,” said the young man, without replying to the question.

“When suddenly,” resumed Aramis, “the queen announced an interesting event. There was great joy at the intelligence, and all prayed for her happy delivery. On the 5th of September, 1638, she gave birth to a son.”

Here Aramis looked at his companion, and thought he observed him turning pale. “You are about to hear,” said Aramis, “an account which few indeed could now avouch; for it refers to a secret which they imagined buried with the dead, entombed in the abyss of the confessional.”

“And you will tell me this secret?” broke in the youth.

“Oh!” said Aramis, with unmistakable emphasis, “I do not know that I ought to risk this secret by intrusting it to one who has no desire to quit the Bastile.”

“I hear you, monsieur.”

“The queen, then, gave birth to a son. But while the court was rejoicing over the event, when the king had shown the new-born child to the nobility and people, and was sitting gayly down to table, to celebrate the event, the queen, who was alone in her room, was again taken ill and gave birth to a second son.”

“Oh!” said the prisoner, betraying a better acquaintance with affairs than he had owned to, “I thought that Monsieur was only born in—”

Aramis raised his finger; “Permit me to continue,”